flooded lungs
by BlueEyes444
Summary: Six years and she hadn't fallen apart once until now. /Mollysander, till death do them part and beyond.


**Disclaimer: I don't own_ Harry Potter._**

**Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, angst like whoa.**

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_The water looked deep and inviting._

It takes a moment for the words she has just written to register with her and when they do, she freezes, double-checks, making sure her mind isn't pulling tricks on her. Six words stare back at her. She drops her pen, and it lands on the floor, a small thump.

Her hands shaking, she lifts a cup to her lips, inhaling the scent of warm tea before trying to take a sip. Her hands are shaking too badly. She quickly places it back on the desk, and finds her eyes drawn back to the paper that has her neat scrawl over it. Six words. Bile raises in her throat.

She picks up the tea, and not caring about her desk, dumps it across the paper, watches the liquid eat away at the words, places the cup down, wanders down the hall and into the bathroom, drawn to what is still haunting her after six years.

She turns the water on, lugs the drain, watches as the water slowly inches up as it fills the tub. Six years. Six years and she hadn't fallen apart once until now. It was that line. Those six words have her seeing that she can't continue to live without him.

The bathroom's tile is cold and it duigs into the soles of her feet as she stripps herself of her clothing. Her movements are stiff, almost wooden.

She lowers herself into the water, the warmth promising to erase her memoires, erase her scars. Oh, there's a small thought. She sinks lower, the water dancing across her shoulders, teasing, taunting her, tickling her like a lover might do.

_"__The water looked deep and inviting._ He gives a half crookedrin at her stare. "What? It's a classic, that line is. A classic, I tell you. Next masterpiece you write, Molly-girl, that needs to be the opening line. It's a best seller waiting to happen!"

The water is up to her chin, and in one fluid movement, she's under, and the water is filling her ears, the only thing she can hear is the beating of her heart. It, the water, leaks into her nose, seeping into her mouth, holding her like _he _had done.

_"Molly, you might want to sit down."_

_"What, why? What's going on?"_

_"It's Lysander. I'm so sorry. So sorry. We just recovered the body. He drowned."_

The water has blurred the world, and for a moment, she feels light, and free, unstoppable. She closes her eyes, opens her mouth, her lungs burning, wonders if this is what he felt that night six years ago. She knows that dying by drowning is painful, having written a book on it, but in reality, did the pain mattered, as long she would finally find her way back to him?

_It doesn't make any sense. Because Lysander was a professional swimmer and he was too good to drown. Nobody believed me, nobody cared enough to listen._

She can feel her air running out, having been under for a little to long and she's okay with that, becuase in this moment, all she can think is that she needs to see him, to hear his life, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to love him, to just be there with him. Blackness is clouding her mind, her will to survive is fading, her limbs are filling heavy, the pain is lessoning, and she's okay with that, because she needs him, need him again, and what's the point of living, when half your heart is gone? She's gone six long years without him and she's at the end of her rope.

Her lungs struggle, her heart beats heavily against her chest, and the water is choking her, suffocating her, and suddenly.

There's his voice inside of her head, demanding to know what she's doing. _Don't do this. Please, Molly-girl, don't do this to me. You have to live so I can live too. Please, fight. Don't give up. This is a moment of weakness. You can overcome it. You're stronger then this. You still have a life to live. Write that masterpiece, dig into my drowning, find the clueslike you've been wanting to, do anything but this. You need to live. If not for yourself, then me. Please. I love you, Molly-girl._

And with those words, with his voice, something sparks inside of her, ignites her will to fight. Because he needs her to and she can't let him down, not now.

_Look at the clues. You've written enough mysteries to see what's not there. Wait for me. One day, we'll be able to be again. _

Suddenly, she feels hands on her face, fingers dancing along her collarbone, and she's being pulled from the water, and being laid upon the ground and a fearful cry of her name, and hands pounding on her chest, a mouth against hers (and it tastes of mint and a spark of recognition). And she's coughing, her lungs aching, chest heaving, blackness threatening to take her, shivering, trembling, goodsebumps covering her flesh as she drips of water, which clings to her hair, her skin, drips from her lashes. She curls upon herself, uttering his name, and those were his hands, she knows they were and.

She wakes up in their, her, bed, surrounding with blankets, dressed, and if her throat wasn't sore, or her body aching, she would swear everything was a dream.

Something catches her eye and her hand finds a paper just a few inches away.

_The water looked deep and inviting. _

She touches a hand to her lips, feels the mouth that brought her back to life, and she smiles.


End file.
